Someone, please
recycle me...

Cast the rod, rip the calendar apart,
you'll find your lucky number...

Half-drenched hair.
the sky is bruised-black...

Four months later, still waiting,
for a kiss on the forehead...

I am full of headaches.
Living with him is hearing...

Along railroads, I can hear the wind
plucking songs from cities and skies...

I refuse to sleep tonight, need to keep
the dead weight on my chest...

"What was high school like, to you?"
I was the rat in the labyrinth...

I want the world to consist less
of headaches, of less collars that suffocate...

Dear reader,
Forgive my ramblings...

Did you know?
I've been counting basketballs ever since the day...

One -
we are strangers, reaching over...